


Synchronization

by rockinhamburger



Series: Synchronization 'Verse [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-13
Updated: 2011-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-15 15:39:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockinhamburger/pseuds/rockinhamburger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several years after Kurt and Blaine amicably parted ways at the end of high school, they wind up at the same party. To Kurt, it feels like serendipity but life is not a Hollywood movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted at the kurt_blaine community over at livejournal.
> 
> Dedicated to my good friend valentina_says!

As it were, Kurt would not even have been at the penultimate party if hadn’t been for his co-worker, Max. Boyfriend to the host of said party, he’d invited Kurt during their shared shift at Betsey Johnson.

“I would have invited you sooner, but I thought you already had plans!”

Technically, Max had been correct; however, Kurt’s date, Adam, had called the previous night to cancel. And since staying home on a Friday night was out of the question, Kurt gladly accepted the invitation. Truthfully, he probably would have said yes to a chess match.

And so, armed with his second glass of wine, Kurt had to admit the party was a good one. Max and Owen were an excellent couple-host, making the rounds in a way that didn’t look like they were making the rounds. The food was light, buffet style, and the alcohol tasty and seemingly never-ending. There was also the added bonus of the gorgeous guy manning the makeshift bar in a tight white shirt that hugged his ample amount of muscle perfectly.

Kurt was just considering starting a conversation with the hunky bartender when his eyes found _him_. Him being Kurt’s high school sweetheart, Blaine Anderson, who was standing with a group of people by the piano across the room and laughing hearily at someone’s joke.

Kurt turned hastily toward the bar, heart thumping in his chest like a drum. He downed his drink and walked briskly over, hot fuzz swelling in his brain.

It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be.

But it was. There was simply no one else it could be. He’d recognize that head of curls anywhere.

Placing his empty glass on the counter, he smiled grimly at the bar-tender. “Something stronger, please and thank you,” he said fervently.

The bar-tender grinned. “Coming right up,” he said with a wink, turning away to get to work. Half a minute later, he placed a glass in front of Kurt. “I’m Manuel.”

Kurt took a sip of his drink, which turned out to be a Gin ‘n’ Tonic. “I’m Kurt,” he said, allowing himself a small smile. “Listen, Manuel. Normally I’d be very game for you taking my clothes off once you’re finished for the night, but right now I have to focus on pretending not to snoop on my ex-boyfriend. My sincerest apologies, because you are undeniably gorgeous.” With that, he drained his drink and pushed the glass back across the counter. “And one more, if you would,” he added with his most winning smile.

Manuel threw his head back and laughed, showing sparkling white teeth. Kurt felt a pang of what could-have-been and cut off the mental image of that gorgeous mouth wrapped around his –

“I like you,” Manuel said over the music, grinning. “Brutal honesty is like foreplay to me.” He placed another drink in front of Kurt. “Now which one’s your ex?”

Kurt chuckled. “The one with the bird’s nest for hair.”

Manuel surreptitiously swept the room with his calm gaze. “It’s gotta be the cute one by the piano,” he said.

“Unfortunately,” Kurt agreed, sipping his drink.

Manuel leaned forward on the counter, his bulging forearms tightening enticingly on its surface. He plucked at the front of Kurt’s shirt. “Just brushing at some non-existent lint on your person,” he said, eyes shining with mirth. Then he grinned and used a pen from behind the counter to scrawl what could only be a phone number on a cocktail napkin, retrieved from the pile beside the beer tap.

“Good luck on your mission,” he said, pushing the napkin toward Kurt. “Feel free to use that anytime.”

Kurt pocketed the number with a smirk. “Thank you.”

“And heads-up,” Manuel added, “he's on his way over here. Goodnight!”

Kurt grinned. “Thank you again. Have yourself a lovely evening.” And with that, he grabbed up his drink and turned swiftly on his heel, and found himself face-to-face with the man he hadn’t seen or spoken to in roughly eight years.

Even with his advanced warning of Blaine’s presence at the party, Kurt could still feel his chest tighten as his eyes met Blaine’s wide-eyed ones. They stared mutually for about three seconds, and then Blaine’s face broke into a thousand-watt smile.

“Oh my god!” he cried. “Kurt!”

Kurt smiled back. “Blaine!”

“What the hell!?” Blaine spluttered. “What are you _doing_ here, of all places?”

“I work with Max! What are _you_ doing here?”

“You work with Max? I work with Owen at Langston!”

Kurt gaped. “Small fucking world,” he said with a disbelieving shake of his head.

“No kidding!” A sudden silence blossomed between them, and then Blaine echoed Kurt’s headshake. “This is insane! Let me grab a drink. We gotta catch up; this is just too weird.”

Kurt agreed, and he said as much, and pretty soon they were seated on the loveseat in the corner of the room.

“This is completely bizarre!” Blaine shouted.

Kurt nodded adamantly, unable to suppress a happy grin. "So you work with Owen?”

“Yeah, I’m head of advertising for his firm.”

“Advertising?” Kurt gasped, perplexed. “You went into _advertising_?”

Blaine laughed. “Business, actually. Advertising sort of found me.”

“Well, good for you!” Kurt said, finishing his drink and placing it on a passing waiter’s tray.

“What about you?” Blaine asked, scooting closer, ostensibly to be heard better over the music.

“Oh, you know, nothing special, just living in _Manhattan_ ,” Kurt said significantly.

“I know! It’s unreal!” Blaine finished his own drink and held on to the empty glass. “So you work with Max?” he pressed.

“At Betsey Johnson. He’s the manager, I’m the mannequin designer.”

Blaine looked impressed. He grabbed two glasses of champagne off a different waiter’s tray and handed one to Kurt. “Let’s toast! To successful lives in New York and random happenstance meetings!”

Kurt clinked his glass against Blaine’s and took a long sip. When he looked up, Blaine was in the process of swallowing his own sip of alcohol, and Kurt felt powerless to look anywhere but at the column of Blaine’s straining throat. His mouth felt abruptly dry at the urge to fix his mouth there.

Blaine caught Kurt looking. He swallowed. “You wanna get out of here?” he asked, eyes dark and ready to be fallen into.

“Oh yes,” Kurt breathed.

They hit the street in the direction of Kurt’s apartment, conversation fast and easy from their bizarrely crossed paths, and probably also from the alcohol. Soon they were kissing hot and heavy in the door of Kurt’s place and shedding clothes on the way to Kurt’s room. They hit the mattress and immediately fell together.

Kurt could barely form thought. There were at least a dozen sensations crackling through him as he stroked his hands along Blaine’s naked, decidedly adult body with curiosity and brimming arousal.

He reached for the condom under his pillow, ripped it open and spread it on Blaine’s cock. Blaine arched up and groaned unabashedly. Kurt added lubricant, steadfastly ignoring Blaine’s distracting moans.

Then Blaine said it. Kurt's name, for the first time in eight years.

Kurt scrambled to straddle Blaine and bore down, skin hot and feverish, heart swelling in his chest and his hands gripping Blaine’s straining shoulder blades. His hands mapped Blaine from memory, and his breaths came in short pants from heavy kisses as their movements became frantic.

Some time later, Kurt fell asleep with his head spinning from the seven or eight drinks he’d consumed, and undoubtedly also from the time warp to 2013. He could not fight the unmistakable feeling of his heart expanding in an attempt to reach out and latch on to Blaine’s. Again.

-

Kurt awoke the next morning with a mild headache and the odd sense that his life had become something out of a movie in the past twelve hours. After all, Kurt reasoned, people didn’t just reunite after eight years; not in real life. It had to mean something. It had to be destined.

Maybe he and Blaine were... it sounded ridiculous in his head, but maybe they were meant to be.

In retrospect, he should have known better. Life is nothing like the movies.

He was just contemplating coffee and breakfast (and vaguely wondering if Blaine still ate unholy amounts of bacon) when a tinny ring echoed through the room. Kurt raised his head and determined, after a moment, that the sound was coming from Blaine's pants, which were strewn on the floor by the door.

Blaine shifted and opened his eyes, blinking tiredly.

"Good morning," Kurt greeted warmly.

Blaine looked over at Kurt with some measure of confusion, then dawning comprehension. Then he covered his face with his hands and groaned deeply. Kurt frowned and pushed himself into a seated position, staring down at Blaine's shamed posture.

That was not the look of someone who was happy to wake up next to his high school sweetheart after nearly a decade.

Blaine suddenly threw the bed covers aside and got to his feet, padding over to his pants. He pulled them jerkily on, then reached into his pocket to retrieve what turned out to be his phone, and he squeezed his eyes shut with another pained expression at whatever was on the screen.

Maybe he was late for work?

"Do you want to stay for breakfast?" Kurt asked uncertainly, thinking Blaine might need to leave quickly.

Blaine glanced up from his phone and grimaced. "I - I can't." He looked around the room desperately, and Kurt realized he was looking for his shirt. So he could leave.

It was definitely not because he was late for work.

Kurt found himself feeling annoyed. If Blaine was so ashamed of falling back into old habits, he could at least have been kind about it.

"Pretty sure your shirt's in the hallway, where I left it after ripping it off last night. After you ripped mine off, remember?" Kurt said sharply. "You seemed pretty eager to fuck last night; what's with the morning after shame?"

Kurt expected an equally sharp response, not for Blaine to crumple inward with an expression of utter misery lining his face.

Now Kurt was starting to feel hurt. Was it really that bad?

Blaine turned away. "I have to go."

Like a switch, Kurt flashed to white-hot anger with a snap that seemed to vibrate through him. "At least do me the fucking courtesy of telling what the hell I did wrong!"

Blaine cringed back around and said, rather viciously, "Nothing! I have a boyfriend, all right? We've been together two years; he's sent ten frantic text messages since midnight, and I've just cheated on him. So I need to get the fuck out of here and do damage control."

Kurt's mouth fell open, and he gaped at Blaine, completely speechless.

Blaine's shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I made a huge mistake. I feel terrible about it, and I'm sorry." Then he turned and practically ran from the room. Kurt heard footsteps in the hall and, a few moments later, the sound of his front door closing quietly.

Sure that Blaine was definitely gone, Kurt cursed at the top of his lungs, giving into his profound disappointment and frustration, and his surprising guilt.


	2. One

Kurt went into work at his usual time, tired and sore and completely out of sorts. When he walked through the door, Max looked up from serving a customer and flashed Kurt a mischievous smile.

Kurt put his bag in the back room and returned to the storefront, idly sipping his extra large, strong coffee while he waited for Max to finish up with the customer. He found himself wishing, for the second time in twelve hours, that his drink was something stronger.

When the customer was safely out of the store, Max rounded on him. “Spill! What happened with Owen's ad man last night?”

“What do you mean?” Kurt demanded, feeling panicked. How could he possibly know?

Max furrowed his brow. “I think his name was Blaine? You were talking to him! You left together! Did you fuck?”

“No!” said Kurt, trying to keep his expression neutral. “We-” he hesitated, deciding quickly that he needed Max to believe him, “we have history. I dated him in high school. We were just catching up.”

“You dated him in high school?” Max yelped, leaning on the counter toward Kurt. “Oh my god! Kurt, you’re, like, the gay version of John Cusack and Kate Beckinsale!”

Kurt shook his head gravely. “No, we’re not. Trust me.”

Max raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Come on! Old flame resurfaces years later. That’s the entire plot of Serendipity. It’s got to mean something!”

Kurt felt a pang of regret and sadness surge through him. “Please drop it, Max,” he urged. “That’s not how it is, okay?”

Max made a noise of impatience. “I saw the two of you talking! That was some mutual adoration I saw last night, plain and simple. Rekindled romance in the air!” he crooned.

“Stop it,” Kurt snapped. “There is no romance there, rekindled or otherwise. He’s got a boyfriend, and it sounds pretty fucking serious, so our meeting was just coincidental and not the plot to a lame Hollywood movie!”

Max cringed at Kurt’s harsh words and tone. “Sorry,” he said, understanding in his voice. “I didn’t mean to push.”

Kurt gave himself a mental shake. “No, it's okay. I’m just--"

“I get it,” Max replied succinctly, giving Kurt a gentle smile, which quickly transformed into a smirk. “Well, you just gotta fuck someone else, then, am I right? Just kidding! D’you need to watch sappy movies and eat ice-cream, hon?”

Kurt laughed and rolled his eyes. “I definitely do not, _hon_.”

“All right,” Max said airily. “But if you change your mind, you let me know." He gave Kurt a last warm smile, and then he narrowed his eyes and added, "And Serendipity is not lame!”

Kurt laughed, shaking his head, and went into the backroom to get started on the new designs for the window display.

The work was a welcome distraction from Kurt’s melancholy thoughts.

-

Kurt took the subway home after work. His mind strayed to thoughts of, what else, Blaine.

If Blaine was dating someone, why had he agreed to come home with Kurt?

There was, of course, the convenient excuse of lessened inhibitions, but Kurt didn’t think Blaine had been that drunk. Kurt could remember every detail of the night before; every deep kiss and every reverent touch with painful clarity, and he’d had several drinks. Had Blaine been so drunk that he couldn’t rationally think, ‘wait, I’ve got a boyfriend; maybe I shouldn’t do this...’? Kurt really doubted it.

Maybe he’d somehow forgotten he was already in a relationship? But that didn’t make sense, either. Two years was far too long to just forget about your significant other and fuck some guy.

But, said a voice in Kurt’s head, you’re not just _some guy_ , you have history.

So, maybe Blaine had felt the pull, same as Kurt, and, with the added ingredient of alcohol coursing through his veins, had made a grave error in judgment.

Whatever the case might have been, Kurt rallied that there was no point dwelling on the issue. Obviously Blaine regretted it, and as painful as it was to admit, all Kurt could really do was try to move on and forget what had felt so right and so... perfect.

Which was easier said than done.

A few blocks from his apartment, he remembered Max’s jovial suggestion of fucking someone else instead, and suddenly the idea was irresistible.

And hey, Kurt had a hot guy’s number waiting in the pocket of his pants.

Once upstairs, Kurt went looking for the pants he’d worn the night before, and after a quick perusal of his room located them almost entirely under his bed. He hurried out of the room, leaving behind memories of pleasured moans and breathless gasps, and curled up on his sofa.

Manuel picked up after three rings. “Hello?”

“Manuel? It’s Kurt. From the party last night?”

There was a pause. “Brutal Honesty!” he said, sounding pleased. “Well, hello! I’m surprised you called!”

Kurt winced. “Oh, I know I’m breaking all the rules by calling the very next day, but I thought maybe we could get together for a drink?”

“We could definitely do that!” Manuel enthused. “When are you free?”

Kurt glanced at the time: 5:35. “I’m free tonight.”

“Tonight’s perfect. When and where?

Kurt smiled.

-

He met Manuel outside a posh club on the Lower East Side.

Thirty minutes later they were fucking in Manuel’s bed, Kurt on his knees with Manuel pounding into him. It was blissfully, sinfully good. An hour later, they fucked again, and Kurt fell asleep with just the right amount of soreness in his muscles, too worn out to dwell on any curly-haired ex-boyfriends.

-

The next morning they shared a breakfast of granola and yoghurt. Kurt used the time to admire Manuel’s bare, muscled chest.

“So what happened with your ex in the end?” Manuel asked curiously, about ten minutes into their easy conversation. Then he cringed. “Hmm. That’s not appropriate morning-after breakfast conversation, is it?”

Kurt laughed. “Well, we seem to be breaking with convention all over the place. Why change now?”

Manuel beamed. “Good logic! So?”

“Well, not much happened, actually,” he said with relative calm, but his brain was screaming at him to tread carefully.

After all, Manuel knew Owen, who knew Blaine. That was a little too six-degrees (or, rather, three) for comfort.

“You left together,” Manuel pointed out. He grinned. “ _Obviously_ , I watching you the whole night.”

Kurt leaned forward to laugh over his breakfast. “Stalker!" he giggled. "We just went for coffee. Nothing life-altering.”

Liar.

“Well, I can’t honestly say I’m sorry to hear that,” Manuel said. “You’re kind of amazing.”

Kurt preened. “Thank you! You’re not bad yourself,” he teased, leaning in for a kiss.

Manuel hummed into it and pulled back with a content smile. “I hate that I have to work.”

“That really sucks for you,” Kurt said brightly, and Manuel laughed. “Sundays are my day off.”

“Lucky.” Manuel stood and put their empty bowls in the dishwasher. He turned around and leaned against the counter. “Sorry to kick you out, but I have to shower and get ready.” He scratched at his elbow. “But I’d like to see you again. Soon, if possible.”

“Definitely,” Kurt said, getting to his feet. “I’ll call you this week.”

“Looking forward to it.” Manuel walked over to give Kurt a goodbye kiss by the front door, and then Kurt let himself out and started for home, fairly pleased by his excellent evening and equally excellent morning.

Manuel was a nice guy. He was hot, amazing in bed, and he was well-spoken and funny.

But he wasn’t Blaine. Kurt hated himself for thinking it, but it was the truth.

He hated himself even more when his heart began thumping in his chest at the sight of the very object of his considerations sitting on the stoop of Kurt’s apartment.

Blaine scrambled to his feet when Kurt stopped dead. “Hi,” he croaked. He cleared his throat.

“What are you doing here?” Kurt hissed.

“I feel like shit,” he said bluntly. “I’m such an asshole, Kurt.”

Kurt took in Blaine’s pale skin and the dark circles under his eyes, and he moved around Blaine to unlock the door of his apartment. “And you came here to tell me this because...?” he said, heavy on the sarcasm. He couldn't look at Blaine.

“Because I ran out without even talking to you,” Blaine answered. “The more I thought about it, the worse I felt.”

Kurt whipped around. “Does your boyfriend know you’re here?” he spat out, incensed.

Where the hell did Blaine come off? Showing up at his place, after everything, was unacceptable.

Blaine bit his lip. “No,” he said in a small voice.

“You are unbelievable,” Kurt snapped, and he turned and opened the door. "Go away."

“Kurt, please. I just – I need you to understand that I didn’t mean for this happen.”

Kurt stopped halfway through the door, listening in spite of himself.

“I just – I saw you at the party, and it felt... it felt like old times," Blaine said. Why did he have to sound so sad? "I was confused and drunk, not that that’s an excuse, and then I did something that I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive myself for. But-” Blaine broke off, and he sounded like he was on the verge of tears; Kurt felt his anger slipping away. “I can’t handle the idea that you might hate me for this, Kurt, I _can’t_.”

Kurt sighed and faced Blaine again. “I don’t hate you. I’m fucking pissed as hell, and frankly pretty shocked that you, good, noble Blaine Anderson, would ever do this, but I don’t hate you.”

Blaine’s expression was convoluted with sadness, self-hatred and shame. He looked like he was about to burst into tears, and so Kurt sighed again and opened the door. “Come on. I’ll make us some coffee, and we can talk about what happened.”

Blaine’s relief – it was too much; Kurt seized on it like a starving man. Blaine needed him, in some small way, to make it up to Kurt, or to explain, or something.

He had to hear Blaine out.

And maybe Kurt would get some closure out of it.

Blaine followed Kurt inside. Kurt shut the door, walked into the kitchen, and started the coffee machine. As he did, he was hit with the memory of coffee and breafast with Manuel, suddenly reminded that he had yet to shower. He’d deal with it later.

“Take a seat,” Kurt offered, watching Blaine glance around the kitchen. Blaine nodded his thanks and sat down at the table, and Kurt hesitantly joined him, taking care to keep one chair between them.

Kurt crossed his legs. “So did you tell your – what’s your boyfriend’s name?”

“Tony,” Blaine replied, looking down at the table.

Stupid name, Kurt thought, but without any real heat. It wasn’t Tony’s fault, after all. “Did you tell Tony what happened?”

“No,” said Blaine guiltily. “He’s – he’s been cheated on before, and I don’t know if he’d ever trust anyone again if I told him.”

Kurt raised his eyebrows. “Your relationship, your rules,” he said. “And I can’t really take the moral high ground here-”

“You didn’t know; don’t blame yourself!” Blaine said quickly.

Kurt let the sudden silence between them sit awkwardly. “I don’t,” said Kurt flatly. “That’s not what I meant. I meant that I haven’t exactly been a stand-up guy. I spent two months fooling around with two guys who didn’t know the other existed, and I’ve lied plenty. I’m not perfect, so I’m not going to sit here and tell you what a piece of shit you are. I have a feeling you’re doing enough of that on your own.”

Blaine hung his head. “I feel like shit,” he repeated.

“That’s a good thing,” Kurt replied. “If you didn’t I’d wonder what the hell had happened to the kind-hearted Blaine I used to know.” Blaine gave Kurt a sad smile. Kurt took pity on him. “Look, Blaine, you made a mistake. A relatively huge one, but it happens. And it doesn’t make you a bad person. You can keep beating yourself up about it, or, if you care about him, you can make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“I do care about him,” Blaine rushed to assure him, which were not easy words for Kurt to hear but he tried to take them in stride. “I just – I wanted to come here and apologize for...” he trailed off, apparently uncertain how to word it.

“For fucking me and running out?” Kurt offered dryly. “For letting me think you were available?”

Blaine flinched. “Yeah. And for putting you in this position.”

Kurt let out an exasperated breath. “What position? It’s not like I’m the other woman. I’m not waiting around for you to choose me or him. These were extenuating circumstances. And yeah, it wasn’t great mistakenly assuming things between us would go a certain way, but that’s partly my own fault for assuming in the first place.”

“You say you’re sorry, I say it’s okay,” Kurt concluded. “So now you can go back to living your life like you were before this unfortunate accident.”

Blaine stared at Kurt without speaking. Kurt escaped his intent gaze by fixing each of them a cup of coffee and handing one to Blaine. “Two sugars, right?” he checked.

Blaine nodded, peering silently into the depths of his mug. Kurt sat down with his and took a long sip. Delicious.

“So,” said Kurt, apparently feeling masochistic, “while we finish up our drinks, tell me how you met Tony.”

Blaine looked up, surprised. “Uh. We met at his birthday party. A mutual friend brought me, and... well, things kind of just went from there.”

Kurt nodded, ignoring his jealousy. “And you’re happy?”

“Yeah,” said Blaine quickly. “Really happy.”

Kurt couldn’t afford to analyze the honesty of Blaine’s response, so he finished his coffee instead.

“What about you?” said Blaine. “Are you... uh, seeing anyone?”

Kurt shook his head. “My last relationship was pretty volatile. I’ve been taking it easy ever since.”

Blaine opened his mouth to respond and scratched his head, looking hesitant. “You...” he paused, ruffling his enormous hair. “You look like you came from a... good night,” he observed.

Kurt shrugged. His hair was in disarray, he was wearing yesterday’s clothes, and his mouth was probably swollen from kisses. He smiled. “I did have a good night,” he conceded.

He did not elaborate, and Blaine didn’t ask for further explanation. Uncomfortable silence settled between them until Blaine laughed suddenly.

“Remember that time your dad found us on the couch and thought we’d been making out?” he asked.

“Yes!” said Kurt, laughing as well. “He wouldn't accept we’d only fallen asleep.”

“Yeah! I remember he said, ‘I don’t want to know the details.’”

Kurt laughed.“He was so uncertain about how to handle everything." He smiled reminiscently. "He was pretty cool about it, though,” he admitted. “Considering a lot of it was brand new, he took it all really well.”

“He did,” Blaine agreed. “I always really liked your dad.”

Kurt nodded, “He liked you too.”

The shared smile between them was pleased and filled with nostalgia.

Blaine finished his coffee and set his mug down. “Well, thanks for talking to me. I wouldn’t have been surprised if you’d sent me away, nor would I have blamed you, but I really appreciate it.”

Kurt waved Blaine's words away. “Don't mention it. It's good we talked. Now go be your charming self with your man,” he ordered, successfully keeping the resentment out of his voice.

Blaine stood up. “Seriously, Kurt, thank you.”

“All right, enough with the thanking,” Kurt insisted. He walked Blaine to the door.

“Bye, Kurt,” said Blaine, taking a couple steps outside before turning around to face him. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“You’re welcome. Have a good life, Blaine,” he said, with utmost sincerity.

And he shut the door, unwilling and unable to watch Blaine walk away.

Not again.

-

“So, how was your weekend?” Max asked on Monday. “Did you do anything wild?”

Kurt rolled his eyes fondly. “Wildness ensued! There was a zebra, and triplets, and a megaphone.”

“That was scarily specific,” Max said after a moment. Then he burst out laughing. “You’re the best.”

Kurt grinned. “I know.” He put his pen down from taking inventory and leaned sideways against the counter. “I hooked up, actually.”

“You did?” Max said exuberantly. “Now that’s what I like to hear! Was it awesome?”

“Very,” Kurt replied. “Remember the bartender at your party?”

Max scrunched up his forehead, clearly thinking back to the party, and then he smiled. “Fuck _yes_ I remember him! Owen found him through a friend or something. Nicely done!”

Kurt smiled smugly and picked up his pen to continue inventory.

“Are you gonna see him again?” Max inquired.

“I think so,” said Kurt, checking off three boxes in a row. “He asked me to call, and I said I would.”

Max put his hand on the papers Kurt was writing on. “But you don’t want to?” he guessed.

“No, it’s not that,” he said. “It’s just...”

Max gave him a knowing look. “Still thinking about High School Boyfriend?” Kurt didn’t say anything but his silence evidently spoke volumes. “Hey,” Max said gently, clasping Kurt’s shoulder, “you don’t have to be made of steel all the time. You’re allowed to be upset.”

Kurt swallowed thickly. He’d shaken the habit of bursting into tears at the slightest sign of trouble once he’d left his emotional teen years behind, but sometimes the urge to cry like a baby hit him with full force. But he wasn’t going to do that, and certainly not in front of his coworker.

“Honestly,” said Max, “I kind of hate the guy. When I saw you together, I swear that was a green light I saw from him. It’s not cool that he led you on like that.”

You have no idea, Kurt thought. He shook his head minutely. “I appreciate the solidarity.” He took a deep breath. “I think I will call Manuel.”

“Great idea! He’s way hotter than your ex, anyway,” he said companionably.

Kurt forced a laugh; while that was objectively true, Kurt had to silently disagree with Max. Blaine had always been the most gorgeous guy Kurt had ever laid eyes on.

He was starting to worry that might always be the case.

-

He called Manuel that night.

“Kurt! I’m glad you called!”

“Glad I caught you,” Kurt said with warmth. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine. Just getting ready for work. How are you?”

“Right, you work nights,” Kurt hummed, feeling disproportionately, wildly disappointed. He really didn’t want to be alone tonight.

“It’s one of my shorter shifts!” Manuel said in a rush. “I finish at ten...”

Kurt sensed the open invitation and took it gratefully. “Do you want to come over when you’re done for the night?”

“I sure do,” Manuel replied intently.

Kurt smiled.

-

Manuel had brought a few movies over for them to choose from, but Kurt didn’t even glance at them before he pounced.

Movies forgotten, they fucked on the living room floor, Kurt revelling in the scratch of the rug under his back, and the piston of Manuel’s hips. Manuel fucked like it was his job; he knew when to speed up and when to slow down, when to jack Kurt’s cock rough or slow, and how to move Kurt so that all he had to do was let go and _feel_.

He seemed to thrive on Kurt’s enjoyment, too, leaning down to spread kisses along Kurt’s throat while keeping his thrusts constant and impeccably, perfectly angled, nudging Kurt forcefully toward a bone-deep, electric orgasm.

It was welcomingly mind-numbing.

Afterward, they made their way to Kurt’s bed. Manuel pulled him close and seemed to breathe him in. “You’re fucking sexy, you know that?” he whispered against Kurt’s skin. Kurt could not suppress a shiver.

“And you’re incredible,” Kurt returned. “You fuck like it’s the apocalypse!”

Manuel laughed breathlessly and tightened his hold around Kurt’s waist. “You know what they say,” he mumbled, “'Fuck like it’s the last day of your life'.”

“No one says that!” Kurt laughed.

“I’m fairly certain someone does,” Manuel insisted, voice coloured in amusement as he pressed a kiss to Kurt’s temple and snuggled closer.

Kurt could not help but feel as though Manuel had been sent expressly to worship Kurt’s body from head to toe.

-

Kurt was jerked awake by the sound of the doorbell. He groaned and sat up; it was probably the landlord looking for the rent. Kurt had sent his rent check via mail a few days ago. He might as well explain it was on its way.

He tugged on his bathrobe, sauntered sleepily into the hallway and opened the front door.

Blaine was standing outside with two Starbucks cups and an uncertain smile. “Hope you haven’t made any coffee yet,” he said, holding them up.


	3. Two

Kurt was frozen on the spot.

He'd genuinely believed he would never see Blaine again.

“Can I... come in?” Blaine asked, faltering somewhat.

“Why?” Kurt rasped. He coughed into his hand delicately.

Blaine bit his lip. “I just wanted to pay you back for the coffee the other day.”

Kurt stared. It couldn’t be later than 10:00 am. “You just dropped by to give me coffee? At this hour? Where do you live, even?”

“Upper West Side. 89th Street.”

Kurt boggled. “What the hell are you doing all the way out here? And don’t tell me it’s to give me coffee, liar.”

Blaine smiled. “Fine.” Then he sobered. “It just seems like a sign that we’ve met up again after all these years. I was thinking maybe we could have coffee once in a while, as friends. I don’t have enough friends.”

It was, frankly, hysterical that Blaine was acknowledging the significance of their reuniting, and reading, rather than romantic entanglement, potential friendship into its weight. It was just Kurt’s luck that Blaine seemed to believe it was too eerie for coincidence, but not in the way that really mattered.

He opened his mouth, ready to explain that a casual friendship between them would never work; he couldn’t possibly be around Blaine and get over him at the same time. He was interrupted, however, by footsteps in the hallway he was still standing in and staring out at Blaine from.

Manuel was awake.

Right, Kurt was still on a date. With a man who was walking down the hall toward Kurt with a sleepy, curious expression.

This was the worst! He couldn’t very well slam the door in Blaine’s face, but he also didn’t want these two people to meet. At all, ever.

“Hey,” said Kurt, making up his mind, “Come here. You can meet Blaine.”

“Blaine?” Manuel stopped at the door. “Who’s Blaine?”

Kurt opened the door the whole way and turned back to Blaine, who looked about as shocked as if he’d thrown open the door to reveal a woman.

“Manuel, this is Blaine; Blaine, Manuel,” he said, gesturing awkwardly and trying to pretend this wasn’t the fucking weirdest moment of his life.

Blaine, dapper as always, recovered first. “Hi, there. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” said Manuel coolly; he obviously recognized Blaine.

“I didn’t realize you had company,” Blaine said to Kurt.

“That’s generally what happens when you show up unannounced on someone’s doorstep,” Kurt pointed out rationally.

Blaine shifted on his feet. “Yeah. Well, sorry for interrupting. Here, you can have these,” he said, holding out the coffees.

“Oh,” said Kurt dumbly. He was ashamed to find he didn’t really want Blaine to leave. “Well, thanks.” He took the offered coffees and smiled uncomfortably.

“See you,” Blaine said shortly, and then he turned and walked away, quickly.

Kurt watched him go, and he stepped back. Manuel closed the door for him. “You okay?” he asked, trying to catch Kurt’s gaze.

Kurt looked away and nodded absently. “Yeah. Here,” he mumbled. He handed Manuel one of the coffees and turned into the kitchen to sit down at the table.

Manuel took the seat across from him. “Well. That was...”

“Phenomenally uncomfortable?”

Manuel didn’t laugh at Kurt’s attempt at lightening the mood. “I’m confused. How does he even know where you live?”

Kurt rubbed his face with one hand. “He came over the night we saw each other.”

Manuel’s eyebrows went skyward. “I thought you said you just had coffee.”

Kurt couldn't think of anything to say. Lying was easy; getting caught in one and weaselling his way out of it? Not so much.

“I see,” said Manuel softly.

“It was just a one-time thing,” Kurt said urgently, leaning forward. “We hooked up, okay, but it didn’t mean anything!”

“Kurt, come on,” said Manuel. “I have no right to get angry here, considering I literally don’t know you at all, but it had to mean something. Ex-sex, pretty much categorically, means something.”

“It didn’t,” Kurt insisted. “It really didn’t. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth before, I was – I was just ashamed of it.”

Judging by Manuel’s expression, he didn’t believe Kurt.

“We talked about it,” Kurt continued, “and it was made very clear that nothing else would come of it.” Kurt put his hand on Manuel’s pleadingly. "Please believe me."

Manuel gave him a considering look, and sighed. “We’re not married; you can fuck anyone you want. I just... really don’t appreciate being lied to.”

“No, of course, I’m sorry,” Kurt said immediately. “I sort of just wanted to forget it ever happened. It wasn’t my proudest moment.”

Manuel turned his hand up and tangled his fingers with Kurt’s. “All right, fair enough. We’ve all done things we regret in the morning.”

Kurt’s stomach knotted. That was a shockingly accurate description of the situation.

He wasn’t really sure why it was so important for Manuel to stick around; why he cared so much about his reaction. Manuel was right that they barely knew each other, and yet... Kurt really wanted to see things through, at least for a while.

He supposed it felt nice to have someone in his life who wanted him in a meaningful way.

“So he just showed up with coffee?" Manuel asked.

Kurt frowned. “He said he wants us to be friends and have coffee sometimes. I don’t really understand why.”

Manuel squeezed Kurt’s hand. “Hey, I've already said you’re pretty amazing. I can see why just about anyone would want to be friends with you.”

The sudden sting of tears in Kurt’s eyes was unexpected. He stood up. “I have to be at work by noon, so I better shower.”

He hurried down the hall, taking deep breaths to calm himself down.

It was too much. All of it.

Manuel followed him right into the bathroom. “Great,” he said with a shameless grin. “Shower sex sounds great.”

Kurt laughed, relieved, and pulled Manuel into the shower.

-

After work that evening, Kurt called the only person he felt he could actually talk to about all, or any, of his awful situation. Mercedes would judge; as much as he loved her, he knew she would. And he couldn’t talk to his dad about this, for damn sure, and while he might have been willing to talk to Carole about it, he would rather have that conversation face-to-face.

None of that was an issue with Tina. She wouldn’t judge, and she’d probably have some sage advice.

Tina answered with a bright, “Kurt! Long time no talk!”

“Tina! I know, I miss you so much!”

“I miss you too! How’s New York?”

Kurt sighed showily. “Oh, expensive, snobby, moody. I love it.”

“Good!” Tina laughed.

“And how are things on your end?”

“Ehh, fine. Work’s a bitch lately, but what else is new?” Kurt hummed understandingly. “So what’s on your mind?”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, Kurt,” she said patiently. “You don’t usually call unless there’s something on your mind.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” said Kurt, stepping over a crumpled newspaper lying in the middle of the sidewalk. “I don’t mean to-“

“Don’t give me that; I’m not criticizing or complaining, I’m just saying. Talk, Hummel.”

Kurt sighed gratefully. He loved Tina so much. “Well, it’s kind of a long story. Are you able to talk for a little while?”

Tina assured him she was, and soon he was sharing the whole story, every last detail. Tina was appropriately amazed and pissed and shocked in all the right places.

“So Blaine left,” he iterated, nearing the finish, “and Manuel was... understandably unhappy that I lied about the night of the party. We talked, though, and I think we’re okay now. But I don’t know _what_ to do about the situation with Blaine. I really thought I’d never see him again.”

Tina made a sympathetic sound in his ear. “That really sucks, Kurt! I’m sorry things are so messed up.”

Kurt laughed in a hollow kind of way. “That’s my life right there, in a nutshell: ‘Sorry Things Are So Messed Up’. It should be the title of my autobiography!”

“Oh sweetie,” she laughed. “Hey, at least your life is interesting! You’re basically living out a slash fanfic. And what am I doing? Fuck all. I haven’t gotten laid in months, I haven’t met anyone even interesting in years, and there you are living it up in Manhattan. You’re living the American Dream!”

Kurt stopped trying to unlock his door and just _laughed_ , right there on his front step. By the end of his explosive shouts of laughter, he actually felt a little better. “Oh god, Tina, you’re fantastic! I love you!”

“Love you too, baby. Gotta put some perspective on your life, ya know? And I am the Queen of Perspective.”

Kurt entered his apartment, set his keys down on the table in the hall, and threw himself ungracefully onto his sofa. “You really are,” he said affectionately. “Can you come live with me already? Be my roommate and cheerlead whenever I need it? I’ll give you night-time cuddles in return!”

“Tempting,” Tina said fervently. “Really fucking tempting!”

They laughed quietly, and once they’d calmed down, Tina said, “Kurt? I’m not going to pretend I understand Blaine’s motivations, but he’s always seemed... kind of ridiculously perfect. Almost robotic, actually. And cheating on someone? That’s a pretty fucked up situation for a perpetually composed person to be in. He’s gotta be feeling unholy levels of guilt, both with his boyfriend and with you. He fucked up, badly, and now, I’m thinking he's trying to make everything right.”

Kurt hmm’d his following of her words.

“But whatever his guilty conscience is telling him to do, your needs have to come first. If he shows up again, you have every right to tell him not to come around anymore.”

“I don’t know if he will show up again. You should have seen his face, Tina, he ran away like the ghost of Liberace was on his heels.”

Tina giggled. “Nice mental image.” Kurt snorted. “I don’t know, Kurt,” she said, “I have a feeling he’s gonna show up again. He’s done something completely counter to his personality, and humans are creatures of habit; I’ll bet you anything he’s searching for solace in old comforts. And you were a big comfort to him! Being friends with you probably seems like the solution to a huge chunk of his problems.”

Kurt sighed deeply. “I don’t know if I can handle being friends with him.”

“Then you can’t handle being friends with him,” Tina said. “If he shows up again, you are perfectly within your rights to tell him you can’t do it.”

“I’m not sure it’s that simple,” Kurt said, wrapping his arms around a throw pillow.

He didn’t say the words resounding in his head, that he wasn’t entirely sure he really had a choice in the matter. There were some things that had felt inevitable in the course of Kurt’s life, and this was starting to seem like one of them.

-

Three days passed where Kurt didn’t see anyone except Max and the customers who came into Betsey Johnson.

He did talk to Manuel on the phone. They made plans to see a show Monday night, but other than that, Kurt stayed at home and watched TLC every night until he fell asleep in his clothes on the couch.

Sunday morning, Kurt opened his door to find the increasingly familiar sight of Blaine standing there, about to ring the bell. “Hi!” said Blaine with surprise.

Kurt dropped his keys, startled. He bent down to pick them up, stepped outside to close and lock the door behind him and turned to Blaine with hands on his hips. “Can I help you?”

“Heading off somewhere?” Blaine asked pleasantly.

Kurt rolled his eyes and started walking; Blaine fell into step beside him. “No,” Kurt deadpanned. “I realize the action of stepping outside and locking my door would have you believe I’m headed somewhere, but I’m actually just planning to walk around in circles for a few hours. Maybe pet a couple dogs while I’m at it.”

Blaine burst out laughing. “Oh, jesus,” he said, wheezing. Kurt allowed himself a small smile. Making Blaine laugh was... there were no words for it.

“So where’re you off to?” Blaine asked curiously.

“To shop. I'm not working today, so that gives me the whole day to hunt for kick-ass sales.”

Blaine grinned. It was gorgeous. “I see you haven’t changed,” he said jovially.

“I’ve changed plenty!” Kurt said indignantly. “I don’t even flinch anymore when I see dog shit on the ground!”

Blaine laughed again; it was also gorgeous. “Does take some getting used to,” he agreed. “I can zero in on a turd from half a block away now.”

Kurt let out a bout of surprised laughter. “Potty humour, my _god_! We are not teenagers; we’re not supposed to find it funny anymore! Not that it was particularly funny then.”

“It was funny then, and it’s funny now,” Blaine insisted, chortling.

“Whatever,” Kurt drawled, grinning and cutting across the sidewalk to enter the subway. Blaine followed. “Are you seriously joining me on my shopping excursion?”

“I love shopping!” Blaine enthused.

“You hate it,” said Kurt flatly, jogging down the steps to the underground. Blaine kept pace with him.

“Okay, fine, I hate it," Blaine said. "But it’s a perfect friend outing!”

Kurt ignored the squeeze of his heart, and focused, instead, on getting through the turnstiles.

“All right,” said Kurt once they were on the platform and waiting for a train. “If you’re serious about being friends, you can’t keep showing up whenever you feel like it, or we're sure to have a repeat of Tuesday morning.”

“Yeah, that was pretty awkward,” Blaine nodded.

“To put it mildly. You see, dates don’t really like it when other men show up the next day.”

Blaine chuckled. “Can’t imagine why.”

Kurt gave Blaine a supremely exasperated look. “I will give you my number, and you will call and check when I’m free like a regular human being. Like a _normal friend_.”

Blaine nodded, grinning abashedly. “Okay.”

They exchanged numbers, boarded the train, and stood together by the pole when they saw the seats were all occupied.

“So who was that guy you were with?” Blaine asked. “Where’d you meet him?”

Kurt raised an eyebrow. “He served you alcohol at Max and Owen’s party.”

“Oh, the bartender? Well," he said, looking half-amused, half-guilty, "I was a bit preoccupied that night.”

“Yeah, all right, I’ll give you that," said Kurt.

“So you hooked up with the bartender?” Blaine asked, and something in his voice sounded a little... condescending. Or maybe Kurt was reading too much into it.

“He’s pretty amazing, actually,” Kurt said lightly. He hesitated, wondering if it would be too forward, then figured, _what the hell, we’re friends; friends talk about sex_ : “He sucks cock like he was born to do it.”

Blaine looked about as shocked as Kurt expected. “Well,” said Blaine. “Well, that’s good, then.”

“It sure is!” Kurt agreed, affecting a dreamy expression.

Okay, so maybe he was rubbing it in a little, but he wanted Blaine to see he wasn’t moping around, that he had moved on and found someone awesome, and pretty quickly to boot! Someone who happened to give awesome head.

“How are things with Tony?” Kurt asked airily, as if he wasn’t invested in the answer at all.

“Fine,” said Blaine. “Good. He’s been away all weekend on business.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s a pharmacist,” Blaine answered. “He’s at a medical conference in Boston.”

“That’s nice,” said Kurt perfunctorily, aching to respond derisively. A pharmacist, _really_? “Has he always lived in New York?”

“Yeah. Grew up in Brooklyn.”

“Cool,” said Kurt. “Does he sing?”

Blaine smiled. “A little. He says he feels inferior, though, so he only does it when he thinks I can’t hear him.”

Those words made Blaine’s boyfriend seem somehow real. Kurt felt a wave of guilt wash over him, but also, surprisingly, some of the tensions between the two of them lessen. It was good they could talk about the boyfriend without it being awkward.

“Do you still sing?” he asked.

“All the time,” Blaine said, “But not officially, you know? Just in my bedroom, with my guitar. You?”

“Not as much as I’d like," Kurt admitted. "In the shower, or along with the radio, but not like I always pictured myself when I was at McKinley. Life isn’t like you think it’ll be in high school. Rachel’s the only one from New Directions who’s actually made it big, relatively speaking. She’s done shows on Broadway, and she’s in living in LA now. She's actually doing it.”

Blaine seemed to like the conversation topic. “Cool! What’s everyone else doing?"

“Mercedes signed with an indie label, and right now they’re shopping her album around. Hopefully a few radio stations will pick it up and start playing her. She's still completely fabulous, of course.”

Blaine laughed, “Of course. What’s Finn up to?”

“Finn’s been apprenticing under my dad at the garage,” Kurt explained. “He seems to like it! And he’s been with the same girl for longer than a few months, which is a nice change of pace.”

“Good for him,” Blaine chuckled. “What about Tina? I always liked her.”

Kurt smiled. “She’s a Research Assistant at OSU, and she’s working on her thesis; majoring in Linguistics.” Kurt shrugged. “Other than that, I don’t really talk to anyone else that much. I know Artie’s in journalism. We’re friends on Facebook, so I see his status updates.”

“Well, your friends’ career paths sound about as diverse as their personalities,” Blaine noted.

“An apt observation,” Kurt said. “What about Wes and David? Do you still talk to them?”

Blaine gave a half-shrug. “Not really. I get alumni emails from Dalton once a year, so I know Wes is nearing the end of his studies; he’s on track to working as a District Attorney in Ohio. And David’s a science teacher at a prep school in San Francisco.”

“Appropriately accomplished,” Kurt said with a smile. “Oh, here’s our stop!”

For the remainder of the day, Blaine stayed by Kurt's side. They even ate dinner together, their conversation fast and easy. Shortly after eight o’clock, they headed back to the subway, Kurt weighed down with several bags of brand new purchases, and Blaine with a few bags of his own.

Kurt wrestled with his fervent desire to be around Blaine for as long as possible. He didn’t want this day to end.

But they were apparently friends now, and Kurt would have to be happy with the time they had, no matter how much he wanted to pull Blaine into a deep kiss, and take him home and never let him out of Kurt’s sight.

Kurt rode home alone, the memories of the day chasing each other in his head.  
He was never going to get over Blaine. He was sure of it now.

-

His date with Manuel the following night was pretty much perfect, from the show they watched ( _South Pacific_ ) to the sushi dinner, right up to the completely fantastic sex they had a few hours later at Manuel’s apartment.

Later, Manuel read aloud to him from the novel he was in the middle of reading. Kurt paid very little attention to the words, mostly listening to the sound of Manuel’s deep, even tones. He traced circles on Manuel’s chest, lulled to sleep by Manuel’s soothing voice in his ear.

When he thought about it at work the next day, while securing a mannequin’s arm back on, he reflected that it would be really nice if he could fall in love with Manuel. The man had many wonderful qualities, and he seemed fairly smitten with Kurt. It would be the solution to all of Kurt’s current problems if he could just gather up all his stupid feelings for Blaine and siphon them onto the Adonis who actually went to bed with him.

-

The texts started at around the fifth week mark following Max and Owen’s party. Kurt could hardly believe it had been five weeks already; it felt, simultaneously, like that fateful night had occurred a lifetime ago and just yesterday.

Blaine had started texting him out of the blue, usually once a day; an observation about a stranger on the subway, or a complaint about a colleague at work. Soon the texts were coming in several times a day, and they’d say things like _Just saw an awesome sweater in the window display at H &M totally your style._

Not only was Blaine thinking of him and his clothing style at random intervals throughout the day, he also used semi-colons in his texts. It just wasn’t _fair_ that Blaine could be so charming, even in text message form.

He texted back, of course, in true text addict fashion. Blaine’s texts were the kind Kurt could always find something in which to respond to.

One night, Blaine called while he and Manuel were watching a movie at Kurt’s apartment. Kurt waited until Manuel was asleep to listen to the voicemail Blaine had left.

“Kurt! Marathon of _AbFab_! Showcase! Right now!”

Kurt pushed his face into the wall by the sink and began to cry.

 _AbFab_ had been their show, the one they’d watched all the way through at least five times during their fifteen month relationship.

Blaine remembered. He had no idea what it meant to Kurt that he remembered.

Kurt wept silently until his misery passed, and then he went back to bed. Despite the warm body next to his, Kurt was certain he had never felt so lonely in his life.


	4. Three

Kurt’s phone rang on a Tuesday in October, just as he was getting started on tidying the kitchen. He happily abandoned his work to pick up his phone.

The caller ID read: _Dad_

“Hey Dad!” he answered.

“Kurt?”

Kurt’s heart clenched with fear. “Carole!" he gasped. "What’s wrong? What's happened?”

“He’s okay,” she said calmly. “Your dad was having chest pains, but we got to the hospital in great time. The doctor’s recommending your dad have a pacemaker put in.”

Kurt leaned shakily against the counter and cursed under his breath. “That means surgery, right?” he asked numbly.

“Yes, but it’s very minor, and your dad will be in _much_ better shape after. He’s resting right now, and they’re planning to perform the surgery in a few days, once he’s feeling up to it.”

Kurt exhaled. His heart was still beating ridiculously fast. “He’s okay?” he checked, feeling sixteen and terrified all over again.

“He’s okay,” she said firmly.

“I can take a few days off and come out," he said quickly, "I just have to call into work-”

“Kurt,” Carole said, even more firmly. “Before he fell asleep, your dad told me he didn’t want you dropping everything just to come here and wait around. He’s in very capable hands, sweetie. Once he’s had the surgery, I promise I'll take extremely good care of him.”

“Carole,” he said flatly, “he's my dad. I can't just stay put.”

“Yes, you can. The best thing you can do for your dad right now is to stay where you are,” she said gently. “Finn will be around to keep the shop going while your dad rests up, and to help out if we need anything. You should come visit in a couple of weeks, when things are a little quieter. Okay?”

Her tone brooked no room for argument. Kurt sighed, torn. “Okay,” he said finally. “I’m not happy about it, but okay.”

“Good. Please don’t worry.”

Kurt bit his trembling lip. “I love you. Tell dad I love him. And Finn, too.”

“I will,” she promised. “And we love you too. Talk to you soon, hon.”

Kurt heard the click of the line being disconnected.

In high school, when his dad had his first heart attack, the very act of being near him had given Kurt an admittedly false sense of control over the situation. How was he supposed to stay in New York, far away and completely useless?

Kurt clicked into his list of contacts. He should call Manuel; he'd come over and give Kurt soothing kisses, or offer him a relaxing massage.

He didn’t. He scrolled down to Blaine’s name, hit the ‘call’ button and pressed the phone to his ear, clenching his eyes shut.

“Hey!” Blaine said warmly when he picked up on the second ring. “How’s it going?”

Blaine’s sweet voice shattered Kurt’s threadbare calm. “Blaine,” he gasped, fighting back a sob.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Blaine demanded rapidly.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” said Kurt quickly, “It’s my dad, he’s in the hospital and he needs to have surgery. I’m just-”

Blaine spoke over Kurt’s frantic words, “I’ll be right over.”

“What? Blaine, no, that doesn’t-”

“Have you eaten yet?”

“Blaine, seriously, don’t-”

“ _Have you eaten yet_?”

“No,” Kurt mumbled.

“I’m on my way,” said Blaine, and he hung up.

Kurt pulled his phone away from his ear and stared at it blankly.

Blaine was on his way over. Was that normal friend behaviour? Kurt just didn’t know anymore, and he was too fed up to expend any more thought on the subject for the moment. Thrumming with nervous energy, Kurt picked up his cleaning where he’d left off before the phone-call-from-hell, and sang quietly to himself.

The doorbell rang halfway through an on-the-spot medley of Queen. Kurt abandoned the sponge he was using to wipe down the counters and walked briskly to the door. The moment he opened it, Blaine pushed inside and pulled Kurt into an achingly familiar, comforting hug. Kurt sagged against the warm body cradling his and tucked his chin onto Blaine's shoulder, shutting his eyes against the urge to bawl his eyes out.

“Are you okay?” Blaine mumbled, right in his ear. Kurt suppressed a shudder; he could feel Blaine’s hands on the small of his back and between his shoulder blades. It was just this side of too intimate, so Kurt pulled back and raised his head to meet Blaine’s tender gaze.

The moment felt suspended in time and space, and Kurt stepped away entirely and walked into the living room to escape it. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he said quietly as he sat down.

Blaine sat down beside him on the couch. “You don’t have to be okay.”

Kurt slumped forward and buried his head in his hands. He could remember so many moments like this one, with the two of them sitting together and comforting each other through difficult times. Blaine would take Kurt’s hand every time.

That wasn’t appropriate anymore.

Kurt took in a ragged breath and spoke through his fingers, “I’m sorry for calling you, Blaine. It’s not that serious: it’ll be a minor surgery; he's just having a pacemaker put in, and you came all the way out here for nothing. I shouldn’t have-”

“Hey, _hey_ ,” said Blaine, tugging Kurt’s hands away from his face by the wrists and giving him a gentle smile. “Don’t do that. Don’t retreat inward. You don’t have to be alone with your fears. You're allowed to be upset.”

Kurt folded his hands under his chin and propped his elbows on his knees, turning his head toward Blaine to return the kind smile. “Thanks, Blaine.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Blaine easily. “Now. I brought a movie and some very necessary Chinese takeaway.” He held up a plastic bag and began laying out boxes on the table.

Kurt stared. He hadn’t even noticed Blaine was holding anything! Blaine handed Kurt a steaming box and a plastic fork. “No complaining about MSG,” he chided.

“I wasn’t going to,” Kurt lied.

“Uh-huh,” said Blaine knowingly, getting up from the couch to put a disc in the DVD player.

“What are we watching?” Kurt asked.

“You’ll see.” Blaine picked up his own box of food, leaned back against the couch, and started chowing down. Kurt, suddenly ravenous, followed suit.

The movie turned out to be La Vie en Rose, and Kurt actually squealed. “I haven’t seen this in _years_!” he shrieked.

Blaine just grinned at him, and they ate and exclaimed over the movie, singing along here and there. Once the food was gone, Kurt curled up on his end of the couch and tipped his head back; he was beginning to feel the exhaustion of the day bearing down on him.

He only realized he’d fallen asleep when Blaine shook him awake with a hand on his shoulder. “Kurt? Come on. You need to sleep.”

Kurt whined in protest, but he let himself be dragged to his feet and down the hall to his room. Blaine helped Kurt into bed and pulled the covers up, tucking Kurt in.

“Get some sleep,” Blaine muttered, and he leaned down to press a kiss to Kurt’s hairline.

Tears formed in the corners of Kurt’s eyes. “Blaine,” he gasped out, reaching for Blaine’s hand. Blaine grabbed it and squeezed, hard. “Sleep,” he commanded softly.

So Kurt did.

-

When he came to the following morning, it took a long time for Kurt to become aware of his surroundings. Kurt was blaming that on the searing headache throbbing in his skull. He groaned pitifully and got up to stumble in the direction of the bathroom. Once there, he took three Aspirins, downed a glass of water, and padded out of the bathroom, down the hall and into the kitchen.

There was full pot of percolated coffee sitting on the counter. Kurt let out a sound of surprise and joy, and seized a mug to pour himself a cup. It was only after his first sip that he realized how significant it was that there was already a full pot of coffee in his kitchen.

Which was right when Blaine walked in, clothes rumpled in a way that told Kurt he’d slept on the couch.

“Morning,” said Blaine cheerfully. “How are you feeling?”

Kurt sipped his coffee musingly. “Like Christina Aguilera, circa 2010.”

Blaine laughed. “That bad?”

“I'm exaggerating. I’ve got a killer headache, but I’m feeling otherwise passably human.”

“Good, glad to hear it.” Blaine held out a hand, and Kurt saw his cell phone was nestled there.

And Kurt remembered. “Shit!” He snatched the phone out of Blaine’s hand, then cringed. “Sorry.”

Blaine waved Kurt’s apology away and jerked his head toward the kitchen table. Kurt obligingly sat down and hit Speed Dial 2.

“Hi Kurt,” said Carole. She sounded really tired. “Everything’s fine, hon. Your dad’s awake, do you want to talk to him?”

“Yes, please,” said Kurt. He kept his eyes on the table so he wouldn’t have to look at Blaine. Waking up to Blaine in his apartment, with ready-made coffee and bright morning smiles, was too domestic to bear.

“Kurt!” His dad sounded raspy and exhausted, but pleased. “How are you?”

Kurt felt some small relief wash over him at the sound of his dad's voice. “ _I’m_ fine. The question is, how are you?”

“I’m all right, kiddo,” he said. “I’m scheduled for surgery tomorrow morning, and then I’ll be good as new.”

Kurt’s eyes swam with tears, and he cleared his throat. “That’s good. I love you, Dad."

“Love you too, Kurt.”

“I wanted to come see you,” said Kurt, and he hated how young he sounded. “I would have.”

“I know that. Thanks, you're doin' your old man a favour. You did enough taking care of me when you were a kid; you don’t need to keep doing it every time something comes up.”

Kurt bit his lip hard and wiped at a stray tear. “Feels like I do,” he managed.

“Yeah, I know,” Burt sighed. “But you have to take care of yourself. Are you taking care of yourself, Kurt?”

Kurt looked up at Blaine, who was watching him intently. He gave Kurt a painfully perfect smile, and Kurt swallowed. “I’m trying,” he said, breaking eye-contact with Blaine. “So, are they feeding you properly at that box they call a hospital?”

Burt laughed heartily, and Kurt felt some of the tension in his chest lessen as he listened to his dad describe the hospital food, and the procedure for the following morning. After a short conversation, they said goodbye and Kurt told his dad to have Carole call if anything changed.

“That sounded like an optimistic call,” said Blaine brightly when he hung up.

Kurt smiled slowly. “He really is okay," he said.

Blaine beamed, and a moment of silence passed between them until Kurt tilted his head inquisitively. “Don’t you have... work? Or something else you should be doing, rather than comforting a basket case like me?”

“You’re not a basket case,” said Blaine exasperatedly. “And I called and took the morning off. I had to make sure you were all right.”

“Blaine." He barely managed to keep the pain out of his voice, but he thought it might have sounded like gratitude. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Don’t mention it.”

They spent the rest of the morning watching the news and making fun of the reporters and their overly dramatic personas. Blaine left just before noon, giving Kurt a parting hug and a jovial wave.

Kurt padded into the bathroom to take a shower, thinking over the latest development in his and Blaine’s friendship.

Blaine had spent the night, and although it had been entirely innocent, Kurt could not help but wonder where Blaine had told Tony he would be. Did it mean something if he’d lied? It had to mean something that Blaine had clearly dropped whatever plans he might have had before Kurt’s call, just to come over and be Kurt’s leaning post.

Or not. He just didn't know anymore. There was far too much going on in Kurt’s life, and he was getting really fucking sick of it.

-

Due to his late morning, Kurt was twenty minutes late for work, which was a first. Under the current circumstances, he didn’t think he should be blamed for taking his time getting to work. He felt justified in his uncharacteristic lack of punctuality.

“I was about to call you!” Max said when he walked in. “You’re never late; I was worried you’d been mugged on the way over!”

Kurt smiled as he walked behind the counter. “Thank you for your concern! I was not mugged, thankfully.”

“Everything okay?” Max asked, peering at Kurt. “I certainly don’t care if you’re late, but it is unusual.”

“Yeah, it is. Actually, my dad was on the verge of a heart attack yesterday. He’s supposed to be having surgery tomorrow morning, so I’ve been out of sorts since my stepmom called last night.”

“Oh Kurt, I’m sorry!” said Max sympathetically, eyes wide. “How is he?”

“Apparently he’s fine," Kurt said, shrugging. "He's having a pacemaker put in, which should help with his heart problems.”

“That’s good!" Max wrapped his arms around Kurt, who returned the hug gratefully and pulled away after a few moments. “Do you need some time off to go see him?” Max asked.

Kurt smiled gratefully. “Actually, I wouldn't mind visiting him in a few weeks. A Friday and Saturday off would be great, if that’s not a problem.”

“It’s definitely not a problem,” he said firmly.

-

The next afternoon, the day of his father’s surgery, Kurt met Blaine in Central Park. They walked around while Kurt talked about responsibility and growing up too quickly, and Blaine listened silently, nodding as though every word Kurt spoke was biblical.

They eventually found a bench under a canopy of branches, and sat quietly, watching a group of pigeons wobble to and fro across the grass for a long time, until the sun was beginning to set around them.

The day would have been perfect if not for invisible, palpable barrier between them.

 _Why couldn't Blaine just feel the same way?_

-

When Blaine said goodbye and headed for home -- home with another man, Kurt thought bitterly -- he decided to call Manuel.

“Can I come over?” he asked without preamble.

“Of course you can,” Manuel said immediately.

And so, about half an hour later, Kurt knocked on Manuel’s door. Manuel ripped it open, yanked Kurt inside and pushed him up against the door to plant a searing kiss on his mouth. Kurt groaned and threw his arms up around Manuel’s neck.

“I’ve missed you,” Manuel gasped between kisses.

“Missed you too,” Kurt sighed, thrusting into the solid warmth of Manuel’s thigh. Manuel hissed and ducked his head to nip at Kurt’s jaw.

Kurt moaned. “You need to fuck me right now,” he said sharply.

“Totally on board with that,” Manuel growled against his throat.

They all but ran the short distance to the bedroom. They merely pushed their clothes aside in their haste to get at each other’s skin. Kurt knew Manuel was feeling the same urgency he was, that removing their clothes would take time; better to just pull each other’s pants down so Manuel could roll a condom on, spread lube along his cock and fuck into Kurt.

Kurt cried out and used his calves to pull Manuel in, dragging his nails down Manuel’s back. “Harder!” he gasped. “Please!” Manuel did not hesitate to follow Kurt’s order, his thrusts quick, sharp and jagged, and Kurt arched up to meet each one.

Kurt’s orgasm hit him so intensely that he shook afterward. Manuel stroked Kurt’s stomach, and his chest.

“That – was – amazing,” Kurt said between pants of breath.

Manuel kissed Kurt.

-

He woke up with Manuel plastered against his back. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table, which read 6:17. It was so early!

Memories of the previous night flooded in.

Kurt knew he tended to throw himself into sex in a borderline-therapeutic manner. The momentary black-out from a round of fast, rough sex was exhilarating.

Sex with Manuel felt good, there was no doubting that. It was release of pent-up tension; an escape, and it felt undeniably good.

But it didn’t necessarily feel _right_.

His night with Blaine had felt right, though. There had been no dulling of internal pain. There had certainly been a desperation surrounding it, like there was with Manuel, but with Blaine it had felt organic. Their frenzied movements had been expressions of, Kurt had felt at the time, passion. And _love_.

Kurt was only now realizing how truly devastating it had been to discover that Blaine had felt none of those things. It had been a release, or an escape, for Blaine, like sex with Manuel was for Kurt. That’s the part that really hurt, and as Kurt watched the time click to 6:23, he found himself wishing he could go back and stop himself from ever leaving with Blaine.

Kurt finally decided to get up when it was clear he wouldn’t be getting anymore sleep. He stalked into the kitchen, put some coffee on, and pulled out the frying pan to make them breakfast.

He decided on omelettes, taking out the necessary ingredients. He hummed to himself as he worked, throwing a slew of vegetables and cheese together.

“Something smells amazing.”

Kurt glanced up and found Manuel giving him a lopsided grin from the doorway.

He could not have said where the notion had come from, but he was suddenly absolutely sure he needed to break things off with Manuel immediately. Maybe it was something about the way Manuel was smiling at him.

“Sit down,” Kurt said softly. “It’ll be ready soon.”

Kurt watched Manuel eat while he picked at his own omelette. He shouldn’t make one for himself when he felt so nauseous. When Manuel finished his last bite, he slumped in his seat, rubbed his stomach and said, with a full-on, flirty smile, “Mmm. I could get used to this.”

One any other morning, Kurt might have laughed, but not today. He pushed his uneaten omelette away. “I’m a bitch,” he said, with feeling. “I could out-bitch the best of ‘em, which means I really don’t sugar coat difficult truths.”

Manuel’s expression flickered, but Kurt kept going.

“When I tell you that you’re amazing, please know I’m not just saying that.”

Manuel frowned sadly. Kurt’s chest tightened, and he sighed. “I have a wonderful time when I’m with you,” he continued. “You’re a spectacular human being, and I like you a lot. But I know now that I’m never going to fall in love with you, and you deserve someone who will.”

Manuel looked down with a sad smile. “Well, I guess your brutal honesty is, as usual, refreshing,” he mumbled. “I’m disappointed, obviously, but I appreciate you not heaping on the platitudes.”

Kurt didn’t bother to hold back the welling of tears in his eyes. “I’m really sorry. I wish I was in love with you.”

Manuel chuckled. “Well, I guess that’s something. Thanks for the honesty.”

“You're welcome." Kurt stood up and gave Manuel a watery smile. "I should probably go. I’ve had a lot of fun with you, Manuel.”

Manuel nodded. “Me too,” he said, standing as well and walking Kurt to the door. “It’s been a pleasure getting to know you.” He kissed Kurt on the cheek and gave him what looked like a slightly forced smile. “Take care of yourself.”

The words weren’t forced; Manuel clearly meant them. “You too,” he replied. He walked through the door and turned back to give Manuel a subdued wave.

“Good luck with your ex,” Manuel said thickly, and he closed the door.

Kurt stared at it for a long time before he could find the wherewithal to walk away.


	5. Four

A few days after Kurt broke things off with Manuel, Blaine called him. This was not in and of itself an oddity; Blaine now called several times a week, but the time of the call was significant because Blaine never called during the day, always in the evening or at night.

“Hey!” said Kurt in surprise, answering his phone in the back room at work. He gently set aside the dress he’d been about to place on a mannequin. “What’s up?”

“OHMYGOD!” Blaine shouted. “I did it! I FUCKING DID IT!”

“Did what!?” Kurt demanded.

“I secured an ad for Langston in the fucking _New Yorker_!”

“Ohmygod!” Kurt enthused. “Blaine! That’s amazing, congratulations!”

“Thanks!" Kurt could _hear_ his grin. "I can’t believe it! I just left the meeting with their head of advertising, and – I did it!”

“I am so happy for you!” said Kurt, grinning at the wall. “We should celebrate!”

“Yeah!” Blaine said excitedly. “I’m on my way home, and Tony’s waiting to hear how it went, but, do you want to get dinner tomorrow?”

And just like that, Kurt’s happy mood vanished. “For sure!” he said, attempting to hide his disappointment with enthusiasm. “Have a nice dinner.”

Blaine hummed his thanks. “I’m so excited, Kurt!”

“Good,” said Kurt softly. “Well, I’m at work, so I can’t really talk. Bye.”

He hung up before Blaine could say anything more.

There was something very wrong with being disappointed by Blaine’s completely valid desire to have dinner with his boyfriend after a huge success at work. It was not okay for Kurt to be jealous or upset or anything except completely understanding.

Kurt finished dressing the mannequin and carried it carefully into the front of the store to place it in the window display. Max was on the phone, but Kurt was too distracted by his painful thoughts to eavesdrop like he normally would. After verifying that the display was perfect, he turned around just in time to see Max doing a little dance behind the cash register.

“Excited?” Kurt guessed.

“Yes!” Max said. “Owen’s company got an ad in the _New Yorker_!”

“Yeah, I heard,” said Kurt without thinking. Then he played back what he’d said and hastily began fiddling with the sleeve on a dress in the display.

“You heard?” Max’s footsteps echoed on the floor as he closed the space between them. “What do you mean you heard? How the hell did you hear?”

Kurt grimaced and turned to face Max, heart pounding. “Blaine told me.”

“Blaine?” Max stared. “ _Blaine_? As in, Owen’s ad man? As in, your ex-boyfriend?”

Kurt looked away. “He called a few minutes ago to tell me.”

A long moment of silence followed that Kurt couldn’t stand. He stepped around Max and started toward the second window display. He could hear Max tailing him.

“I thought he had a boyfriend,” said Max.

Kurt straightened a chemise slung over a dress, unnecessarily. “We text and talk sometimes,” he said, carefully keeping his tone casual.

“Oooookay,” Max said, and he stepped between Kurt and the mannequin to catch Kurt’s eye. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” said Kurt. “We’re friends.”

“You’re friends?” Max echoed sceptically.

“Yeah,” said Kurt, forcing himself to maintain eye-contact. “We had coffee a couple months ago, and we’ve been hanging out casually since.”

Max raised his eyebrows. “Uh-huh. And how does Blaine’s _boyfriend_ feel about this?”

“I have no idea,” said Kurt sharply, starting to feel cornered. “I haven’t asked.”

“Well, how does Manuel feel about it?”

“Manuel and I aren’t seeing each other anymore,” said Kurt, and Max reared his head back in surprise. “But he was fine with it when we were,” he added in measured tones.

“Okay, let me get this straight,” Max said with a false air of confusion; Kurt rolled his eyes. “Owen’s ad man gets the company in the New Yorker, and he calls you.”

“Yes,” said Kurt impatiently, “because we’re friends.”

“Right,” said Max dryly, “Before he even called Owen?”

Kurt stared, mouth open, then clamped it shut. “I’m sure he called Owen first, and then-”

“Except when Owen called,” Max said, speaking over him, “he said he’d just gotten off the phone with Blaine. If you already knew when you walked in here, then that means Blaine called you first.”

“Oh, it does not,” Kurt scoffed. “And what’s with the incessant questioning? I do not have to answer to your bizarre interrogations, Max. You’re my employer, not my dad.”

“Yeah, I bet your dad would have some things to say about the ethics of hanging around with an ex-boyfriend who’s in a relationship.”

“Fuck you!” Kurt snapped. “You have no right.”

“You are in complete denial!” Max looked more agitated than Kurt had ever seen him. “I’ve been suspicious, you know. You’ve been way more internal than usual, and you’ve been texting a helluva lot since the party. You think I’m too stupid to put two and two together?”

“I really think it’s none of your business,” Kurt spat out.

“You’re right,” Max nodded, “It’s none of my business. But as your _friend_ , I’m gonna give you some helpful advice. Ask him. If you’re so sure you’re just friends, why not ask him if his boyfriend knows you've been talking and texting.”

Kurt looked away again, startled.

“He’s clinging to you, Kurt,” said Max, in softer tones, “For whatever reason, he’s getting something from you that he can’t get from the guy he’s with. If you have any integrity, or self-respect, because it’s obvious you’re still in love with him, you need to confront him.”

And, apparently finished talking, Max took a deep breath and a step back and said, “It’s quiet. Go home.”

Kurt left without saying goodbye.

-

The problem was that Max had made some very compelling arguments, and Kurt could not deny their hold on him.

Was Blaine being honest with Tony? Had Blaine mentioned running into Kurt at the party, while leaving out the finer (and bigger and most significant) aspects of their meeting? If he hadn’t, where did Blaine say he was going every time he and Kurt had coffee together? They had coffee at least twice a week now. What did he tell Tony?

Part of Kurt argued that it was none of his business if Blaine had mentioned it to his boyfriend. After all, _Kurt_ wouldn’t be the one lying about it; would it matter if Tony didn’t know?

But Kurt knew it would.

If Tony had no idea, it mattered.

-

Blaine knocked on his door shortly after seven the following evening. It was Sunday, which meant Kurt had had all day to go back and forth on the issue, finally rallying that he would make up his mind once he saw Blaine.

When he opened the door on Blaine’s gorgeous smile, Kurt’s heart leapt, and he knew what he had to do.

“Hey, come in,” said Kurt, stepping back to allow Blaine entrance.

Blaine hugged him. “How are you?” he asked after he pulled away. “I'm thinking Thai. What do you think?”

Kurt backed up into the wall facing Blaine, leaving about five feet between them. “I think...” he hesitated, faltered, and regained his footing. “I think you need to stop coming around here.”

Blaine’s mouth fell open. “What? Why? Is this... are things getting serious with Manuel?" He bit his lip. "Does he want other guys out of the picture?”

Kurt shook his head. “Manuel and I aren’t together anymore. He has nothing to do with this. With us.”

“Then I don’t understand.”

Kurt sighed. “Blaine,” he said weakly. “I’m not seeing anyone, but you are.”

“Yeah...” Blaine put his hands on his hips. “So?”

“So!?” Kurt said tightly. “ _So_ , what are you doing here when you’re already with someone?”

“I thought we were celebrating,” said Blaine.

“I mean in general,” Kurt verified, spreading his hands out. “What are you doing here, with me, when you could be with your boyfriend?”

Blaine ruffled his hair in a harried fashion. “Where’s this coming from, Kurt?”

“It’s coming from weeks of increased time spent together,” Kurt replied. “What started out as coffee is now dinner and phone calls and you dropping everything to race over here at a moment’s notice.”

Blaine looked offended at Kurt’s words. “I came over that night because you sounded like you were about to throw yourself into traffic. And we’re getting coffee and dinner because I _thought_ we were friends.”

Kurt was suddenly entirely sick of the charade. Max was right. “That’s bullshit, and you know it,” he said calmly. “We fucked.” Blaine flinched. “Yeah, that’s right. Forgot about that?”

“Of course I haven't forgotten!” Blaine shouted.

“Well you’re acting like you have!” Kurt shouted back. “ _We fucked_ , and you should have stayed away, but you _didn’t_. You came back! And I’ve been trying to figure out why for weeks now!”

“It's because I feel bad,” Blaine said angrily.

“That’s just what I need!” Kurt trilled, channelling his sixteen year-old self in a scary, scary way, “To be your fucking charity case! I don’t need you feeling bad for me, Blaine, I need you to leave me the hell alone!”

“Really, Kurt?” Blaine’s fists were clenched at his sides, and he was breathing hard. “Because the last few weeks say differently. You're sending some pretty mixed signals here!”

“You’re talking to me about mixed signals?” Kurt demanded, incensed. “I cannot believe you! You fuck me, hiss out that you’re already involved with someone else, and then you hit the road. Then you came racing in to make it all better like the good, old Blaine from yesteryear. _I’m_ not the one sending mixed messages here, Blaine; don’t you dare say that!”

“I don’t understand why this is suddenly an issue for you! We’ve been hanging out for weeks, and all of a sudden you’ve got a problem with it?”

“NO!” Kurt thundered. “It is not all of a sudden! I’ve had a problem with it since the day you showed up on my doorstep! Did you really give me a fucking choice, Blaine? Did you actually stop and think about what this might mean for me when I was obviously upset about how things went down after the party? Of course not! Apparently I’m good enough to have coffee with, to go shopping with, to fuck after a few drinks, but not to actually _be with_. So, please, tell me: what the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

“I’m here because I’m in love with you!” Blaine roared.

If Kurt wasn’t already backed against the wall, he would have taken a step back. He managed to shrink against the white, though, reeling. “What?” he gasped.

“I’m in love with you,” Blaine repeated, “but I can’t be because I’m with someone else! And I feel so fucking guilty about it, all the time, that I just – I need to be around you, just to feel something else.” Blaine’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Kurt. I’m so-”

Kurt cut him off with his mouth. He wrapped his arms around Blaine’s neck and sealed their mouths together, and Blaine surged against him, moaning deeply. Kurt dragged his tongue along Blaine’s, already panting into his mouth.

 _Blaineblaineblaineblaineblaine._

Blaine was in love with him.

Blaine was pushing Kurt toward the wall Kurt had just retreated from and slamming him against it to fuse their mouths together again. Kurt whimpered and clutched the sides of Blaine’s face, angling it to lick deeper, to reach farther into that hot, perfect mouth. Blaine rubbed his thigh against the erection in Kurt’s jeans, and Kurt groaned, shuddering all over. “Blaine!”

“Kurt,” Blaine rasped, and his hands clamped around Kurt’s hips and lifted him up, up until Kurt had no choice (and no other desire) but to wrap his legs around Blaine’s waist. “Kurt,” he groaned into their fervent kiss, with tones that made Kurt thrust against Blaine's hard body.

Blaine reached down and unbuttoned Kurt’s jeans. Kurt hissed in a breath and threw his head back, which Blaine rewarded with a drag of teeth along his throat, and then his hand closed around Kurt's dick.

Kurt whimpered.

It was too much. And not nearly enough.

He bucked into Blaine’s hand. “Blaine, please, _please_.” Blaine moaned in Kurt’s ear and licked over the lobe, and inside. “Fuck,” he breathed.

He had to touch Blaine.

He pushed his hand down between their bodies and deftly snapped open Blaine’s slacks. He eased the zipper down and reached inside to stoke up Blaine’s cock, and Blaine made an urgent noise against Kurt’s throat and continued to strip Kurt’s dick with shaky, desperate pulls.

“Come on come on,” Kurt gasped, and he gathered them both in one hand.

“Kurt,” Blaine moaned, muffled against Kurt’s skin. His hands settled on Kurt's ass, and he pulled Kurt closer, kissing him deeply.

Kurt could feel it coming like a train in the distance. He surged up as his whole body seized, and he came, hard, panting heavily into Blaine’s mouth. Blaine came mere moments later, continuing to trust until the very last second and kissing Kurt furiously all the while.

They panted together for almost a full minute before Blaine gently put Kurt down.

Kurt was afraid to look. He knew – he just _knew_ what he was going to see when he looked up, and sure enough, when Kurt looked up Blaine's eyes were on the floor. Kurt could only see Blaine’s fluffy curls.

“Blaine,” he croaked.

“I’m sorry, I have to...” And Blaine turned away to wrench open the door.

Kurt’s responding words were ripped from his throat, felt like they were coming from his very soul: “If you walk out that door, you can’t ever come back. I mean that, Blaine,” he said, and his voice broke, “Don’t you dare come back here.”

Kurt wasn’t sure how it was even possible, but the click of the door behind Blaine, again, was far more heartbreaking than the first.


	6. Five

Kurt could not have said how he managed to uproot himself from his spot in front of the door, but eventually he found himself dragging his feet to his bedroom so he could collapse on his front in bed.

After some time of aimlessly staring at Vogue with his earphones in, his phone rang.

Kurt glanced down at it. His heart jumped, and he hit the ‘ignore’ button immediately.

Oh _no_. He was not going to do this all over again. Not a chance.

His phone rang again twenty minutes later. Kurt hit the ‘ignore’ button once more when Blaine’s name flashed on it, and when it rang a third time, Kurt turned his phone off entirely.

Not a chance in frigid hell.

-

The next morning, Kurt woke up with the distinct feeling that he was going to be fine. He consoled himself with the notion that he had already experienced the worst of his heartbreak; from here on out, it could only get easier.

He booked a flight for Lima for two weeks from the date, showered and dressed for work, and then he turned on his phone.

Two missed calls, a voicemail, and three text messages, all from Blaine’s phone.

He knew he couldn’t listen to the voicemail, or look at the text messages. His resolve might crumble, and he couldn’t afford to linger on Blaine any longer. He had to cut him off like an abscess, before his heart got gangrene or something.

He deleted the voicemail without listening to it, the texts without looking, and left his apartment for the subway. He stopped in at a Starbucks just a few blocks away from work to get himself his second coffee of the morning. Today was evidently going to be a multiple-coffee day. He also bought a cookie at the last second.

He was allowed to indulge a little when he was nursing a broken heart.

Max was standing at the counter when Kurt walked through the door, and he waved. Kurt forced a smile and made his way over.

“Hey Kurt,” Max said, looking chagrined, “Listen, I’m really sorry about what I said on Saturday. I was totally out of line.”

Kurt shook his head. “You weren’t. You were absolutely right. Thank you.”

Max’s eyebrows went up in shock. “Oh. Um. Did-”

“I’d really rather not talk about it,” Kurt said, punching in on the computer above the cash register. “I’m going to start on next week’s displays, all right?”

Max looked torn, but in the end he nodded. “All right. I’m here if you need anything.”

Kurt smiled his thanks, relieved. He just wanted to bury himself in work and forget, and so he walked into the back room, set his bag down on the couch and sat himself at the desk to look through the order catalogue, circling his favourite picks and scrawling bitchy comments beside the really ugly dresses.

He should be Betsey Johnson’s designer! He could sketch infinitely better clothes in his sleep. On occasion, Kurt really lamented having given up on that career path. He liked working with Max, and the pay was incredible, but he couldn't help but wonder where he'd be and what he'd be doing if he'd stuck with fashion design instead of settling for the life he was currently living.

Maybe he’d travel during the summer, check out Fashion Week in Paris or Milan and try to find himself. Sometimes he wasn’t sure he really knew who he was.

Well, that wasn’t strictly true. He was bitchy, dishonest, and selfish. He could be extremely vindictive and mean. He was a damn fool. He was—

Kurt slammed the catalogue shut and scrubbed at his face with his hands. A spiral of self-hate wasn’t going to get him anywhere. He wasn’t all bad. He was caring... sometimes. He was loyal... sometimes. He was talented... always. _Always_.

And hell, if Blaine would rather be with someone else, even though he claimed to loved Kurt, well, that was his loss. Kurt was a catch. Manuel had liked him, Max liked him, Tina and Mercedes loved him, and his family believed in and loved him unconditionally.

Despite his hurting heart, he wasn’t completely lost. He did know who he was.

He was Kurt Hummel: no-nonsense, intelligent, witty, assured.

And, as his dad had once told him on a particularly low afternoon many years ago, no one pushed the Hummels around.

 _No one pushed Kurt Hummel around._

-

Upon arriving home after work, Kurt decided to watch a comedy on television. It was sufficiently mind-numbing, and he fell asleep on the couch just before nine, stumbled to bed around two am, glancing very briefly at his phone and ignoring the stitch in his chest at the sight of three more missed calls from Blaine. And a text.

Kurt cursed himself as he checked it.

 _Please answer your phone._

Kurt deleted it, shoved his phone on the bedside table, and curled on his side. He stared out his window at the city lights and lay awake for a long time before he finally succumbed to sleep once more.

-

There were no texts the next morning. Kurt took it as a good sign. Maybe Blaine had received Kurt’s silent message.

His morning was extremely uneventful, and during his lunch break, Kurt dashed across the street to get himself and Max a panini each. He ate while he worked, making new orders over the phone for next week’s stock.

Just as he was saying goodbye to the woman on the other end of the phone, Kurt heard Max say, “Hey, you can’t go back there!”, and he swivelled in his chair to find Blaine standing in the doorway.

Blaine was wearing a plain t-shirt, a pair of jeans and a very tired, very weary expression on his face. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but you wouldn’t answer my calls or my texts. I was getting desperate.”

Kurt found he had no energy to be indignant. “I’m working," he said simply. "And I have no interest in seeing you, so please don’t drop by unannounced anymore.”

“I broke up with Tony,” Blaine said in a rush. “I told him everything.”

Kurt blinked. “Is that supposed to make me jump for joy?" He frowned. "I honestly don’t care, Blaine. We’re done.”

“Kurt,” said Blaine, expression dejected as he wrung his hands together, “I didn’t tell you that in expectation of anything. I’m just... trying to be honest. You know, since I haven’t been for some time.”

“Well, thanks for the sharing the news,” Kurt said dryly, “but I’m extremely busy, so if you could see yourself out?"

Blaine took in a ragged breath. “I’m the biggest fucking moron on the planet,” he said flatly.

Kurt raised one unimpressed eyebrow.

“I saw my high school sweetheart at a party twelve weeks and two days ago,” Blaine continued, “and it was a blast to the past. I went home with him, and – and it was like the eight years we’d been apart had never happened. I felt seventeen again, but even better. I felt like everything I’d been waiting for my entire life had been dropped into my lap.”

Kurt stared, listening with bated breath. He was relatively sure he’d never been more invested in a conversation in his life, the two obvious exceptions being Kurt coming out to his dad and the last conversation he’d ever had with his mother; although that one had been in hindsight.

Blaine was standing stock still. He obviously had a whole speech planned out, and Kurt might as well hear it out before he turned Blaine down. There was nothing Blaine could say to make up for the last... twelve weeks and two days.

Wait, Blaine was keeping track?

“But there was a problem,” Blaine barrelled on, “because I was already with someone. And instead of being brave, instead of... facing adversity head on, like my high school sweetheart used to do with conviction, I tried to do the easy thing, the thing that seemed morally right. I tried to stick with what felt comfortable and easy, even though my heart really belonged to someone else. I told myself so many lies. That settling for being content was all right if I didn’t rock the boat, as long as I didn’t break my boyfriend’s heart. I told myself that I deserved to be unhappy because I’d cheated on him. I deserved to feel empty.”

Blaine shook his head gravely. “I told myself it was perfectly normal to spend every moment thinking about you; that it wasn’t cheating because I was trying to do right by Tony, and that if you and I were friends, as long as I had you in my life, I could handle feeling torn in half.”

Blaine was getting choked up. Kurt could not tear his eyes away, even though the sight was affecting him deeply. Blaine closed his eyes for a moment, and opened them. They burrowed into Kurt like thorns.

“I wish I could go back to the moment I first saw you by the bar." Blaine sighed. "I wish I’d told you then that I wasn’t available. I wish I’d gone home that night and told Tony the truth, that the man I never really stopped loving had just waltzed back into my life, and that there was nothing I could do but let fate take its course.”

Kurt swallowed thickly. He wanted to look away, but he couldn't.

“I don’t have a time machine, obviously," said Blaine with a hollow laugh, "so I can't take it back. I can't fix it. But I should never have led you on. I knew what I was doing, deep down; I knew I was using every excuse I could find to be around you, to feel your – your passion, and your heart. I wish I could go back to the party and do it all over again, because I might have had a second chance with you, and the fact that I didn’t take it? That I didn't seize the opportunity? It _kills_ me, Kurt.”

Kurt bit the inside of his cheek. This was not getting to him. It wasn’t, damn it!

Blaine tilted his head at Kurt. “I knew for sure there was no going back from my feelings for you the first time I came over after the party. You made coffee, and - and you remembered how I took my coffee." Blaine shook his head, curls swinging. " _Eight years_ , and you still remembered. And I thought: ‘my god, this man is perfect for me in every way’... But I was too scared, too much of a coward, like always, to do anything about it. I didn’t want to break Tony’s heart, not that my intentions mattered, because obviously I did anyway, and worse: I broke yours, too."

Kurt felt his jaw clench tight as he tried to hold back his brimming emotion. Half of him wanted Blaine to stop talking, and the other half didn't want him to stop _ever_.

"I don’t even want you to forgive me," Blaine croaked, "because you deserve a hundred times better, a _thousand_. I only came here to apologize and to tell you the truth, to tell you what I should have told you twelve weeks ago...”

Kurt unconsciously leaned forward and clenched his knees with trembling hands.

“I love you,” Blaine said, voice thick with emotion. “I loved you when we were teenagers, I love you now, and I’m pretty sure I’ll love you ‘til the day I die. That’s the truth, and I’m sorry it took so long for me to get there.” He took a step back. “Thank you for hearing me out. I promise to leave you alone now.”

Kurt felt a tear slide down his cheek, and then a few more. “Don’t promise that,” he choked out. He raised himself on unsteady legs and approached Blaine in slow strides. As he did, he could see that Blaine was crying too, and without further ado, he tugged Blaine forward with a hand wound tight around the nape of his neck to press a soft kiss to Blaine’s lips.

From the doorway, a string of excited one-man applause broke out. “What’d I tell you!” Max cried. “Serendipity!”

“Shut up, Max,” Kurt flung in his direction, rolling his eyes.

Blaine did not seem to have noticed the interruption. “Wait, you’re – you’re not sending me away?” He looked so surprised and so hopeful that Kurt had to smile.

“Well,” said Kurt airily, “As previously established, I’m not such a stand-up guy myself. _I’ve_ spent the last several weeks having substitute sex with a virtual stranger, and allowing the two of us to get closer even though I also knew, deep down, what was really going on." Kurt chuckled. "I also kissed you and gave you a hand job in my apartment, with the full awareness of your relationship status. I think we can safely say we’re both categorically awful people. The way I see it, we’d be doing the human race a favour by eliminating the possibility of causing anymore collateral damage to its members. At this point, we’re kind of too fucked-up to be with anyone else, wouldn’t you say?”

“That makes perfect sense!” Blaine grinned. “In – in a really fucked up kind of way,” he added.

“Precisely,” Kurt trilled, and then he covered Blaine’s amused laugh with another, much deeper, more searching kiss.

“Like I said,” Max said, evidently still at the door, “You're the gay John Cusack and Kate Beckinsale.”

Kurt gave Max the finger over Blaine’s shoulder, and threaded his fingers through Blaine’s soft curls.

Evidently he would have to add ‘lack of self-restraint’, ‘inability to stick to a resolution’, and ‘addictive personality’ to the list of his bad qualities.

But right now they felt like pretty good ones!

-

Max sent Kurt home with heavy hints as to how he and Blaine should celebrate their longtime-coming unity ("Have lots of hot sex for me!").

Kurt did not let go of Blaine's hand the whole way home, and when they stepped inside Kurt's apartment, there was no desperation or guilt standing between them.

They climbed into bed. Blaine pulled Kurt close and said, "I really am sorry. I have a feeling I could say it every day for the rest of my life, and I would never be sorry enough."

Kurt laughed. "Please don't. Just hold me."

And Blaine did.

-

Kurt was roused from sleep by a strip of sunlight infiltrating his bedroom. He groaned and rolled away from the light and into Blaine's sleeping form.

Kurt smiled and leaned in to plant a warm kiss on Blaine, who blinked his eyes open after a few moments.

"Good morning," Kurt muttered.

 _Expectations and letdowns; hope and disappointment; excitement and dread._

Kurt brushed a tentative hand across Blaine's bare chest. For a fleeting moment, he was scared Blaine was going to leap up and run out again.

Blaine's vibrant smile put him immediately at ease. "Morning," he mumbled, voice scratchy from sleep.

The sound washed over Kurt. "Stay for breakfast?" he asked brightly.

Blaine stroked his hand up Kurt's arm and grinned even wider. "If you'll have me," he said softly.

With absolutely nothing to hold him back, Kurt kissed Blaine deeply.

They couldn't erase the last few months, or pretend they hadn't happened, but, as Kurt shivered into their kiss, he figured if life had handed them a second chance -- at a life together, at a morning after -- they ought to pay it forward by giving themselves, and each other, another try.

Though Kurt would rather die than ever admit it aloud, you just didn't argue with serendipity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to valentina_says, for the companionship while I wrote this, and to you, if you took the time to read this. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it!
> 
> <3


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